Category Archives: Weird Weird Weird
Yo, Rob! If that gig as mayor doesn’t work out, and let’s be real, the possibility of your rather large derriere continuing to occupy Toronto’s mayoral desk chair seems remote at best just now, I hear the Dolphins might have some needs on the offensive line.
Call me crazy, but it looks like a match made in heaven as far as I can tell. Of course the NFL does require drug testing, but nobody in Miami seems to be too worried about employing utterly unhinged, foul-mouthed, hyper-aggressive, ranting rage balls. So if you can kick that little crack habit, Mr. Mayor, I think you’ll be golden. And really, in terms of climate, you’d be way ahead of the game.
And by the way, Richie, Torontonians seem to like a large side of crazy with their governance — you know, in the event football is no longer an option. Just sayin’.
And you thought the Weiner/Spitzer situation was out of hand.
The marketing geniuses at 16 Handles promote squash-flavored ooze as “Fist Pumpkin” and invite the public to Size It!, Pull It! and Top It!. No, I am not kidding.
Tell me the truth. Is it me?
So, the other night, Mr. Slattern and I passed the local 16 Handles outpost on the way home from a delightful dinner and movie date that featured the magical combination of George Clooney, brick oven pizza and at least half a dozen Aperol Spritzes — each. As you might imagine, we were in a pretty festive mood. And so it was with some little merriment, and a fair bit of snorting, that we noted, and photographed, the promotional campaign for the newest flavor of the fro-yo chain’s petroleum byproduct dessert food, which is apparently chockablock with “pumpkin goodness.”
The next morning, with a somewhat clearer head, I wondered whether the whole incident had been a mere figment of my imagination — a sort of Lost Weekend moment. But then I scrolled through my messages and came upon the evidence in the form of a snap taken by my better half, who somehow managed to hold his camera-phone steady while laughing uproariously with a not insignificant load on. Just a guy, but what a guy.
Anyways, getting back to the pumpkin sludge we are being invited to fist…oh forget it. You take my point by now I’m sure, and if you don’t, you’re probably better off. File it under “What were they thinking?” and try to salvage what little regard for the intelligence of the human race you have left is my advice.
File this under, “Holy shite, what next?”
I just love the part when he calls her father a “skinhead priest.” Not that he isn’t right, but still, you’d really have to tack hard to crazy to be called a “nutter” by Johnny Rotten — even a late model, dentally augmented, marginally less psychotic Johnny Rotten. Of course, at this point, it’s a miracle he can even string a sentence together, let alone follow anything as complex as a Katy Perry video. If you don’t believe me, take a look at what he got up to in ’78. Just in case you aren’t familiar with Mr. Rotten’s oeuvre, he’s the only who is one not, musically speaking, wailing on either an instrument or an audience member. Singing is what you might call it, but then again, maybe not.
Okay, I realize you have probably already seen this Prancercise workout video. It’s got five million hits on YouTube (I can personally account for at least three dozen), and its viralization has been endlessly covered from the Today Show to the HuffPo. But I have got to say that this is the weirdest shit I have seen (outside a lock-down ward) in a very long time, and I would be remiss if I didn’t point it out to you on the off chance it had escaped your notice.
Remember that weird kid in first grade who ate paste? I think we’ve finally found out what became of her.